The River Nymph (26 page)

He shook his head emphatically. “No, of course not. I’d trust Horace Mathers with my life.”

“But…?” she prompted.

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough, so I might as well tell you now.” Clint sighed. “Jacques didn’t want to worry you. That’s
why he didn’t mention it. He’s willing to wait, but his crew will expect to be paid within the week. Lots of them live up
and down the river and have hungry families to feed. And Herr Krammer knows that we’ve returned and we owe him three thousand,
too, although like the captain, I expect he can afford to wait longer.”

Delilah sat very still for several moments, dreading what she had to tell Clint. He sensed her unease. Taking her hand in
his, he removed the glove and pressed a kiss on her bare palm. “All right. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that devious little
mind of yours.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. In a very small voice, she replied, “Mr. Krammer isn’t the only one we owe. Before we were able
to begin outfitting for the trip, I took out a tenthousand-dollar loan on the
Nymph
from Consolidated Planters Bank in St. Charles. It will come due the end of the month.”

“Damn, Adam must’ve done somethin’ really skunk rotten for the Lord to have created woman,” he muttered, combing his hands
through his hair.

Delilah bristled. “It was the only way I could manage. You were the one who cheated, tricking me with that low card—and…and walking off the boat stark-naked! No one would work for us!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault!” He threw up his hands, as if imploring the heavens for an explanation of the inexplicable nature
of feminine logic. “You had no idea about what it cost to pay a crew or fit out a steamer. I suppose that was my fault, too,
hmmm?”

Delilah struggled not to rip out his eyeballs. “What’s done is done. There is no sense in recriminations,” she snapped.

“Recriminations? Sounded a lot more like you callin’ me a card cheat.”

“Uncle Horace saw you palm that deuce!”

“And had the good sense not to say anything. Of course, he expected I was cheatin’ to win the thousand, not lose the clothes
right off my backside,” he said with a chuckle. “Admit it, Deelie, you had that coming and I outsmarted you.”

“You forced yourself into a partnership on the
Nymph
and now we’re both in mutual debt,” she replied smugly, regaining control of her temper. “We must look at this logically,
Clint. If you’re right—and you
must
be—then my uncle will be here in a few days with plenty of money to pay what we owe and have a fat profit left to split. All
we need to do is stall for time.”

He slouched back against the seat of the carriage and regarded her. She sat ramrod straight on the edge of the seat, as if
ready to jump if a feather touched her. “You’re still worried about Horace, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied in a small voice. “More than anything else. If something’s happened to him—”

“Shhh, nothin’s happened to him,” he said, leaning forward and taking her in his arms. He rubbed her back softly. “Tell you
what, in the mornin’, I’ll talk to the crew. Get them to wait for their pay. You explain to Mr. Krammer about what’s happened.
I imagine he’ll be happy to extend your loan. We have enough time for the bank note. It’ll all work out, Deelie.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled the smell of fresh starch from his shirt. It felt so natural and comforting to be
in his arms. She wanted to be held this way for the rest of her life. When she raised her head and her eyes met his, she searched
for the answer to her unasked question, but he looked away.

“And after that, Clint—then what?” she dared to ask.

He sighed as the carriage pulled up in front of the
Nymph
. “Hell, Deelie, I don’t know…I just don’t know. I reckon our creditors aren’t the only ones needin’ more time. A woman
like you deserves better than the devil’s bargain we made upriver. I’m just not sure I can give you what you’re entitled to
have.”

Delilah deflated. Pulling away from him and gathering her skirts, she quickly stepped out of the carriage before he could
assist her. He caught up to her at the top of the gangplank. “Deelie, wait!”

“For what, Clint? I thought tonight…the way you looked, the way you acted…I thought you were through with your
old life, that you’d put it behind you. But it seems as if I made a mistake.”

“I told you, appearances can be deceiving. Just because I clean myself up and put on fancy duds doesn’t mean the past goes
away. It’s still inside me.”

“Well, hang on to your blessed guilt and grief and never let them go. See how happy that makes you—or better yet, go back
to Eva and let her console you!”

He stood and watched her stomp off, trying to convince himself it was better this way. Better to make the cut cleanand quick
now that they were back in St. Louis. But the thought of returning to Eva’s bed made him feel hollow. If he did that, it would
be no more fair to his old partner than he’d been to his new one…the one he had so foolishly allowed himself to fall
in love with.

“Deelie, Deelie, what are we going to do?”

The quietly lapping waters of the Mississippi had no answers for him as he slowly climbed the stairs to his cabin.

The next day Delilah watched from her cabin window as one of the roosters hauled the last of Clint’s belongings down the gangplank
and deposited the two bags on a wagon. So, he was taking her advice and returning to Eva at the Bud. Good riddance. If the
man wanted to wallow in guilt, who was she to think she could change his life? Did she believe that he could love a woman
who had taken his boat and run him into debt? Or did Clint really think her uncle had stolen his share of the money and was
waiting for her to sneak out of town to join him?

Surely not. He knew them both better than that…which left his stupid, stubborn guilt blinding him to the possibilities
of their making a life together. This was one game she could not control. Fate would deal the cards and she was powerless
to do anything to change the outcome. She turned and looked in the mirror.

“The hell I can’t!” she muttered to herself. If she had to claw off Eva St. Clair’s face and drag him from the Blasted Bud
by the front of his ruffled shirt, Delilah Raymond would have Clint Daniels!

But first things first: Until Uncle Horace returned, there was business to attend. Clint would do his part by speaking to
the crew. Now it was up to her to get Mr. Krammer to agree to defer payment. Thank heavens they had nearly a month until the
bank in St. Charles foreclosed. She dressed in her best dark green linen business suit, fixed her hair into a sleek chignon
and jabbed a pin through her feathered hat, setting itat a rakish angle just to give herself confidence. After a final inspection
of her appearance, she sent word to Mr. Hagadorn to summon a hack for her.

Within a quarter hour she reached Krammer Mercantile. Smiling when she saw him through the window arranging bolts of calico
on a table, she entered the large, dim emporium. “Good day, Herr Krammer. It’s good to see you again.”

“Ach, Frau Raymond, it is happy I am to see you also. Last night I hear your boat has returned safely,” the short, stocky
man said, shaking her proffered hand as if priming a water pump. But the normal sparkle in his blue eyes was not there. He
stammered, “Something there is…I must explain…”

Delilah could tell he was upset, and here she was with more bad news. “Please, my friend, what’s the matter?” she asked gently.
“Have you heard that my uncle has not returned yet with the money we made upriver? I promise we will—”

“
Nein, nein,
never would I doubt your honesty. I know you would pay.” He sighed, running his hands over the top of his pink scalp. “To
tell you this is very difficult. It is not me you must pay. It is Red Riley.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Red
Riley?” she echoed, appalled. “How could we owe him?”

“I was late on a payment at my bank. This, it happens now and then. Never before was there a problem. Until now. Herr Riley
buys my note from Herr Brinker at the Boatman’s Bank. He forecloses. Now Riley owns this business…and I do not believe
an extension on your debt he will allow.”

Delilah felt as if one of the teamsters on the levee had just run over her with a load of quarry rock. “How soon will we have
to make good on that note?” she asked, resisting the urge to twist her handkerchief into shreds. Riley would be merciless.

Krammer chewed his mustache, shaking his head hopelessly. “Next week, the first day.”

“Monday?” she echoed numbly. That gave them only five days. Would Uncle Horace return by then? “My uncle is bringing a huge
amount of money from the sale of our cargo. He should be here any day now.” She tried to say that with conviction, but a premonition
of dread began to settle over her. What if Riley had sent men upriver after them, waited and waylaid Horace? Not only might
the money be lost, but her beloved uncle as well. The thought was too horrible to contemplate.

“Do not fear,
leipchen,
” Krammer said, patting her arm in a fatherly fashion. “He will be here, I am certain.”

Delilah’s eyes narrowed as she considered Riley and his vengeance. One way or the other, she would beat the vicious bastard.
If one hair on Horace Mathers’s head was harmed, she would see Big Red Riley begging in the streets before she was finished
with him. “I’m sure we’ll be fine—oh, yes, and when this is over, you’ll own this mercantile again. I swear it!”

Clint and the captain called a meeting with the crew of the
Nymph.
The men assembled restively that afternoon, milling about the main deck. Daniels explained that until Horace arrived with
the money, they would be strapped to pay unless they sold the steamer, which would guarantee that the men would not have a
job the following spring unless they signed on with one of the large companies gobbling up independent owners. These larger
lines had already driven down crewmen’s wages.

He promised a bonus to every man content to wait for another week. Of course, what he would do if Horace didn’t show by then
with the cash, he did not know. They would have to sell the
Nymph
. Hell, to make good on their other debts, he’d have to sell his share of the Bud, too! But he’d cross that river when he
came to it. For now, the men, at the captain’s urging, agreed to wait.

Clint knew that word of this meeting would spread like wildfire on the levee. By the time he reached the Bud that afternoon,
Banjo Banks confirmed his surmise. That and other things far more alarming. He’d no more than walked in the door when his
pear-shaped partner came barreling toward him.

“Boss, heerd you was back! I wuz just fixin’ to fetch ya from the
Nymph
. Everbody in town’s talkin’ ’bout them bluebellies taking over the boat…” He shuffled around from one foot to the other
for a moment, removing a greasy, high-crowned hat to scratch his straggly hair into further disarray.

“Spit out the bad news, Banjo,” Clint said in resignation. His gut tightened.

“Wall, everbody knows ’bout yer partner’s uncle stayin’ behind to sell the cargo ’n fetch the cash back here. ’Pears a packet
bound from Fort Benton ta St. Louie got smashed upjest above Sioux City last week. Hit by river pirates, looked like. Rumor
says that Mathers feller and four of Cap’n Dubois’s men was aboard. Capt’n of the
Greyhound
, ole Foxy Whitfield, he says he passed the wreck of
The River Race
a day ’er so after it happened. Stopped to look ’round fer survivors. Said he didn’t find none.”

Daniels’s heart skipped a beat. “Foxy Whitfield wouldn’t slow his packet run to rescue the Queen of England unless she waved
the crown jewels from the riverbank.”

“They’s more…”

Clint saw the hard, angry expression on Banjo’s face and braced himself. “This have anything to do with Riley?”

Banjo nodded. “Looks like Mathers ’n his men’re dead, Boss….”

As he relayed the rest of what he’d heard, Clint walked over to the bar and poured himself a stiff bourbon. “Yeah, Banjo, the
smart money’d bet on Riley hiring river pirates to kill all of them.” His friend Horace was gone. The loss of their money
didn’t even register as his thoughts raced to Deelie. Horace was all the family she had left in the world. What would she
do now? Life had once again left her alone and penniless. He tossed back his whiskey and felt the burn. It matched the one
in his eyes…and his heart. He would have to be the one to tell her.

“ ’N thet ain’t all.”

Clint turned, unbelieving. “What more could there be?”

“Big Red bought the note on Krammer’s Mercantile not long after you took off upriver. He’ll be ’round to gloat and collect
his money real soon.”

Clint poured himself another drink, cursing beneath his breath. He would have to kill Riley somehow without getting Deelie
involved. With the glass halfway to his mouth, he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Welcome home, baby,” Eva said in a sultry drawl as she posed artfully on the stairs. Her silver-blond hair lay like polished
sterling around her shoulders. She leaned forward just enough for her silk wrapper to show off the creamy curvesbeneath. One
slender ankle showed when she bent her leg on the step. “I’ve missed you.”

He had, in fact, barely given a thought to Eva since leaving St. Louis with Delilah and Horace. When he turned and nodded
to her, she sensed something was wrong.

Deserting her position above him, she rushed down into the deserted bar, which would fill with customers in a few hours. “What’s
wrong, Clint? Did that Yankee bitch and her uncle separate you from your money? You still have the Bud…and me.”

The high heels of her lavender silk mules stopped midclick when she saw the icy glint in his eyes. He set the glass carefully
on the bar without drinking. “Mrs. Raymond and her uncle didn’t steal my money. Riley’s most probably killed Horace and left
Delilah destitute.”

Eva approached in spite of his hostile stance. “I’m sorry, Clint. You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?”

“Horace Mathers was my friend. He’d never cheat me,” he said, evading a declaration of his feelings for Deelie. “Now I have
to tell his niece that she’s lost the only living relative she had left in the world.” With that, he turned to Banjo, who
had stood motionless during their conversation. “Is Samson in the stable out back?” he asked.

Banjo nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his head. “Shore is. I kin saddle him fer you pronto.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Clint said, heading for the back door of the Bud. En route, he paused and told Banks, “Keep your ear
to the ground about those thugs Riley hired to go after Horace. Probably river pirates. They might have stolen the money and
hightailed it. Mrs. Raymond will need a stake to carry her through if her uncle’s gone. We have to find them.”

“I’ll do thet, boss. Got me an idee or two ’bout who they might be.”

“Find out for certain and let me know.”

When Clint reached the levee, he reined in the gelding and let the great black beast’s reins lie across the pommel of the
saddle. No one on the riverfront would try to steal the valu-able animal. Everyone knew the horse would allow no one but Daniels
to ride him. As Clint walked up the gangplank, he rehearsed for what seemed the hundredth time how he would tell Deelie about
Horace.

There was no good way. He would just have to give her the awful news straight out. He only prayed no one in town had beaten
him to it. Krammer might not have heard the waterfront gossip that Banjo was assigned to monitor. He climbed the stairs to
the second deck and walked to her cabin. When he knocked, he could hear her stirring within. She opened the door with an expectant
look on her face that broke his heart.

“Is my uncle here?” she asked.

He took her arm and stepped inside, then closed the door. “I have some bad news, Deelie. Banjo’s heard rumors on the levee.
His sources say Riley sent thugs to wreck the packet your uncle and the captain’s men were on. Make it look like an accident.
Kill them and steal their money.”

She swallowed hard. “Did they succeed?” she asked, her voice almost breaking. She knew the answer.

Clint spread his hands helplessly. “No one knows for sure. Banjo’s been trying to find out if Riley’s come into any large
amount of cash. So far, nothing, but the thugs may have failed—or double-crossed Riley. Banjo’ll keep after it until we know
what happened. I’ll take care of Riley.” His voice was flat and cold.

Delilah sat woodenly, no tears, no more expression on her beautiful face than she’d had sitting at a poker table. He got up
and poured a shot of brandy—Horace’s good stuff—into a glass. “Drink this,” he said gently, holding it to her lips as he knelt
beside her.

With a surprisingly steady hand, she took the glass and sipped. “I knew something was wrong. He should have arrived days before
us. I thought Riley might have been responsible.”

Now he could see the icy calculation in her eyes. Anger was better than the numb shock she’d first exhibited. “If he knew
Horace was aboard
The River Race,
it wouldn’t be hard to have it sabotaged,” he said.

“Riley would do anything to break us…even kill my uncle.”

Clint took her ice-cold hands in his. “Two things seem sure: Riley would never let all that money be swept down the Missouri,
and he would’ve told the cutthroats he hired to leave no witnesses.”

Delilah stood up, clutching the glass in her hand so tightly that she might have broken it if Clint hadn’t pried it from her
fist. “I’m going to make him pay, Clint. It’s the least I can do to honor my uncle’s memory. For his whole life, Horace Mathers
paid his debts—and we owe Captain Dubois, our crew and Mr. Krammer. I promised him his mercantile back, and by heavens, he
will have it! And I will have a marble grave marker for my uncle placed at the front of Bellefontaine Cemetery. Red Riley
won’t be king of the levee for very much longer. I’ll make him crawl.”

He could see her dark cat-green eyes narrow. “What are you thinking, Deelie?” Already he knew it would be dangerous.

“Arrange a meeting with Riley for first thing tomorrow morning.”

“To talk about what? You know he’ll demand the money we owe immediately.” He studied her as she walked over to the open door
into Horace’s room.

She picked up a volume of Blake’s poetry and turned to a well-read page. “ ‘Songs of Experience.’ I know all about that,”
she said bitterly.

“You also knew about ‘Songs of Innocence,’ ” he said softly. “Horace wouldn’t want you to risk—”

“Risk what? All I have left is 51 percent of this boat and a fortune in debt,” she said, then immediately calmed herself.

“So you figure to tempt Riley into a card game using the boat.” It was not a question.

She looked up at him, clutching the volume of poetry to her heart. Now her eyes brimmed with tears that she refused to let
fall. He crossed the room and took her in his arms, rubbing her back and pressing her head against his chest. But he knew
she would not cry. Not now. Not until it was finished.

She let him hold her for a moment, composing herself, then looked up and met his gaze. “If I sold my share, there still wouldn’t
be enough to cover our debts. A card game is our only chance.”

“Riley will hire a card shark to play for him, you know that.”

A mocking, almost cruel smile barely touched her mouth. “Yes, I expect he’ll get the best he can find between St. Paul and
New Orleans. Uncle Horace could beat any one of them. So can I.”

Clint knew there was no way to reason with her in her present emotional state. And she was right about being one of the very
best players he’d ever faced. “Then let’s see if Riley will bite,” he said, pressing a kiss on her forehead before releasing
her. One way or another, Big Red Riley was a walking dead man. When he reached the door, he turned and added, “If you’re sure
about risking the boat, it’ll be the whole damn shootin’ match. I’ll throw in my 49 percent to sweeten the bargain.”

Suddenly, the tears escaped, gliding crystalline down her pale cheeks, but she did not make a sound, just swallowed hard and
nodded. As he closed the door behind him, he thought he heard her say very softly, “Thank you, Clint.”

As Clint expected, Riley refused to come to the boat or to the Bud. If Mrs. Raymond and Mr. Daniels wanted to talk to him,
they could come to his establishment in town. At ten the following morning. The man known on the levee as Rat Turner delivered
the reply to Clint’s message. Riley’s small, stoop-shouldered messenger had a narrow face, close-set eyes and an elongated
nose. Some said that was the reason for his unfortunate nickname, but others said it was because he was sneaky, mean and would
kill anyone, then gnaw on the carcass.

“We’ll be there, Rat. Tell Riley to be punctual,” Clint said, knowing the little thug had no idea what the last word meant.

In the morning, Clint and Delilah rode from the levee through the more elegant red-light district and headedtoward the rail
yards, passing some of the roughest parts of the city. “It looks like a far larger version of Fort Benton,” she said, appalled
at the offal strewn on the streets and the shifty-eyed men lurking in the shadows of doorways. She thanked heaven it was too
early for the whores to be up, catcalling from the open windows above them.

Clint shrugged. “Wait till you see Red’s place,” was all he said.

The saloon and bordello was made of brick and took up a city block. Big Red had obviously spared no expense in building his
palace. The pity of it was that he had far more money than taste.

“Crenellated towers?” Delilah said as the carriage pulled up in front of the pseudo-castle.

“He wanted a moat, but the mayor and city council balked at that. Said it would breed insect pests,” he replied as he helped
her down.